


The Undress

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 10:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12209379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Sequel to The Dress





	The Undress

Her tiny foot is wedged between his thighs. Her arm is draped over his chest. Her face is smooshed against his shoulders. Her hair is fanned over his chin. He has been in the deepest sleep. He didn’t dream. He didn’t wake screaming with nightmares. He hasn’t felt so secure in years.  
The only issue is it’s 10am and they’re supposed to be at the office.  
He edges forward but her arm clamps over him. The pads of her fingers press into his chest. She snuffles out a sigh and he stops still, aware of his breathing, her rising chest, pressing into his back, the bright red numbers on his alarm clock. The memory of last night pushing behind his eyes.  
She begins to brush her fingers up and down his chest, lightly at first, then with more pace, capturing the hairs and pulling lightly. His nipples respond and he tucks his chin to his chest, trying to tame the rising passion that is brewing in his core. Dana Scully, a baseball diamond, a red dress, an invitation to the ball.  
“Mulder?”  
“Mm?”  
“Time is’t?”  
“Time to get up, Scully.”  
She slips a hand lower and he feels her eyelashes flutter on the skin between his shoulders. “You’re already half-up.” Her voice is quiet, lost against his back. But he can feel the heat of her words and he stirs.  
“Scully. We’re already late.”  
“A few more minutes won’t hurt, then.”  
She’s stroking him and he’s rock hard in an instant. Her pathologist’s touch is certain, firm, steady. He can’t help but think that she’s running through the biological and anatomical names for the body parts and processes that are taking place. It’s kind of a kink of his, one that he’s kept close to his chest for a while, but it seems an appropriate time to admit it.  
“What are you doing, Scully?”  
She snuffles a laugh into his back. “Well, I think I’ve found the place where you keep your hidden weapon.”  
He pushes her hand away and she moans. He turns to face her and she takes him again, the rhythm different with the new angle. He kisses her. “No, I mean, what are you doing. Medically speaking.”  
Her eyes widen and she smiles. A strand of hair is caught in the corner of her mouth. He kisses it away as she speaks.  
“This is manual sexuo-erotic stimulation of the penis. I’m using my left hand to massage your penile shaft, back and forth, rubbing the pre-ejaculate from the tip with my thumb and swirling it around the head. The Cowper’s glands secrete the seminal fluid which smoothes the friction of masturbation so that the subject experiences sexual arousal until orgasm – a series of muscular contractions accompanied by the release of endorphins, and in the case of males, ejaculate.”  
He pants into her neck as she increases the pace. Then she switches hands and runs a finger under his balls, teasing and tickling.  
“That’s good, Scully.”  
She giggles. “Very technical, Mulder.”  
“You talk, I’ll listen.”  
She stops and removes her hand. “Well, that would be a first. Do you mean it?”  
He takes her hand and guides it back to where he needs it, nodding. “You know how to punish a guy, Scully.”  
“Just want to make sure you make good on your promises, Mulder.”  
He’s nearing release and he kisses her, tasting her, probing, in time to her movements. “I promise to be a good boy, Scully. A really good boy.”  
Impulse takes over and he moves with her now, rocking back and forth. He pushes his cock through her right hand as her other kneads his ass. They’re good at this. Really good. And he wonders why they’ve taken so long to work it out.  
The warm fluid spurts into her palm and she sighs with him. He’s hot, sweating, his hair flopping into the crook of her neck. He scatters kisses over her skin and she clutches at his back as he pulses over and over.  
“Thank you,” he whispers and perhaps she shouldn’t read into it, but she knows he means more than that.  
“We’re really late, now. What are we going to tell Skinner?”  
She bounces on the bed as he gets out. She rolls on to her side. The back of him is glorious. Defined muscles on the triangle of his back, tapering to his waist and then that ass, smooth and toned, atop his long legs. His arms though. She licks her lips as he brings her a washcloth. His arms. She knows she’s staring. And he knows she’s staring. And he sits on the bed and kisses her again as she cleans herself.  
“We’ll tell him we were undercover.” She whacks him on the shoulder and laughs. He pulls back the sheets and helps her up. “Did I tell you how beautiful you are, Scully?”  
The blush is deep and hot on her skin. Her nipples harden and she brings her arms up to cover them. “Several times. With and without the dress.”  
He looks at it now, hanging in the wardrobe. “You will be the belle of the ball, Miss Scully.”  
“Only because I’ll have you hanging off my arm, Mulder.”  
The smell of cologne and perfume, beer, bubbles, melted chocolate was overwhelming. The low thrum of chatter, the string quartet. The room is a mood. There is an ice sculpture – a pair of elegant swans, necks bent into a heart, curling either side of Skinner’s head as he stands with his hands on his hips, dapper in a dark suit and bow tie.  
“He scrubs up pretty well,” she says to Mulder who’s taking a couple of champagne flutes from the tray of a young waiter.  
“For an old, bald guy.”  
“Jealous?”  
He smirks. “Should I be? Have you whispered the intricacies of sexuo-erotic masturbation while looking for the hidden weapon of our AD, Scully?”  
She wrinkles her nose at him and sips her champagne. Skinner approaches. He holds out his hand and shakes Mulder’s, then takes her own, her right one. She sees Mulder hide his grin in his fist.  
“You look beautiful, Agent Scully. Am I allowed to say that?” His cheeks flush and his hands slink into his pockets.  
“Thank you.”  
“Your dress is…Agent Mulder is a very lucky…you both look…are you…?”  
A drumroll saves the moment and the MC announces the arrival of the Director. Skinner turns away and finds his salvation with a group of other Assistant Directors. She moves nearer to Mulder and they listen as the speech begins. It’s not long before Mulder starts twitching beside her.  
“Mulder,” she hisses, “keep still.”  
“This is like wire-tap duty, Scully. And you’re standing there in that dress and I can’t touch you, because we’re not…and it’s torture. Haven’t you ever heard of the Geneva Convention?”  
She turns slightly towards him, touches his little finger with hers. She keeps her eyes on his as she sips her champagne, holds the edge of the glass up to her lips, biting it, kissing it, running her tongue along the top. His eyes widen and he loosens his collar.  
“Getting hot, Mulder?”  
He looks around. The other agents are dutifully listening as the Director drones on about targets and outcomes and robust arrest rates.  
“I do feel a little out of sorts,” he says.  
“What other symptoms are you experiencing?”  
“I’m light-headed, tense, dry in the throat. I think I need to lie down.”  
She presses her palm into his forehead and smiles. “It would be a shame to waste this dress and your tux by leaving early.”  
He bends down to her ear. “Who says you need to take your dress off, Scully?”  
The apartment is quiet compared to the ballroom. Just the sound of the fish tank filter and the low hum of his computer. She is standing in his small living room, wrapped in that dress and he swallows back the guilt he feels at taking her away from the music and the glamour.  
“I’m sorry, Scully. Maybe we should go back. There’s still time. The dinner won’t be served for a while yet.”  
She drops her clutch on his couch. Silver on black. “I’m not hungry.”  
“But we didn’t get to dance.”  
Holding out her hand, she sighs softly. “Are you asking?”  
He dances her around in the hallway. Silent music leading them. He’s sure he didn’t deliberately push them back towards his bedroom but she yelps when her legs hit the bed and they stop to laugh.  
“Sorry,” he says, pulling her away.  
“I should take this off, before it gets ruined.”  
He’s feeling bold. “Can I help?”  
“Mulder,” she chuffs. But she doesn’t push him away. She just turns and he unzips it and lets it fall to floor in rivers of crimson. She steps out of it and turns back to him, arms extended and when she kisses him and her breasts push against his chest he knows that this whole thing is real.  
Her foot is wedged between his thighs. His arm is draped over her chest. His face is tucked into her neck. His hair is tickling her cheek. She has been in the deepest sleep. She didn’t dream. She didn’t wake swearing and wondering what nightmares had scratched through her mind. She hasn’t felt so secure in years.  
It’s 10am. On a Saturday. And they don’t have to be anywhere.  
She edges forward but his arm clamps over her. The pads of his fingers press around her nipple. He snuffles out a sigh and she stops still, aware of her breathing, his chest pressing into her back, the bright red numbers on his alarm clock. The memory of last night pushing behind her eyes.  
He begins to brush his fingers up and down her chest, lightly at first, then with more pace, cupping her breast. Her nipples respond and she tucks her chin to her chest, trying to tame the rising passion that is brewing in her core. Fox Mulder, a swan ice sculpture, a black tux, a dance in his living room.  
“Scully?”  
“Mm?”  
“Time is’t?”  
“Time to stay in bed, Mulder.”  
He slips a hand lower and she feels his eyelashes flutter on the skin between her neck and her shoulders. “That’s good, then.” His voice is quiet, lost against her back. But she can feel the heat of his words and she stirs.  
“Scully. We don’t have anything to do today.”  
“We can stay undercover then.”  
He’s stroking her and she feels him rock hard against her ass. This time his touch is more certain, firmer, steadier with the knowledge he’s built up of her body. She can’t help but think that he’s running through the psychological and emotional reactions that this kind of intimacy might generate. It’s kind of a kink of hers, one that she’s kept close to her chest for a while, but it seems an appropriate time to admit it.   
“What are you doing, Mulder?”  
He snuffles a laugh into his back. “Well, I know I’ve found the place where you keep your hidden weapon.”  
She pushes his hand away and he moans. She turns to face him and he touches her again, slipping a finger between her labia, finding the spot, the rhythm different with the new angle. She kisses him. “No, I mean, what are you doing. Emotionally speaking.”  
His eyes widen and he smiles. A curl of hair is caught on his forehead, flopping over. She pushes it away as he speaks.  
“Masturbation is a healthy and normative behaviour in the human sexual repertoire. It is a release of tension, and a way of exploring sexuality, either by yourself or with a partner. Like now. I’m gathering from your reaction to the stimulation of my finger inside you and the pressure of my thumb on your clit that you are becoming aroused. Being familiar with yours and your partner’s sexual responses helps you communicate your needs and desires alike. Masturbation is a relaxant, promotes the release of opioid-like transmitters which can foster feelings of mental wellbeing and it reduces stress, helps you fall asleep and enhances self-esteem.”  
She pants into his chest as he increases the pace. Then he switches hands and runs a finger along her slick perineum, teasing her sensitive nerves of her anus.  
“That’s good, Mulder.”  
He giggles. “Very technical, Scully.”  
“You talk, I’ll listen.”  
He stops and removes his hand. “Well, that would be a first. Do you mean it?”  
She takes his hand and guides it back to where she needs it, nodding. “You know how to punish a girl, Mulder.”  
“Just want to make sure you make good on your promises, Scully.”  
She’s nearing release and she kisses him, tasting him, probing, in time to his movements. “I promise to be a good girl, Mulder. A really good girl.”  
Impulse takes over and she moves with him now, rocking back and forth. She pushes against the heel of his hand, two fingers slipping in and out. They’re good at this. Really good. And she wonders why they’ve taken so long to work it out.  
She contracts around his fingers and he sighs with her. She’s hot, sweating, her hair stuck to her forehead. She scatters kisses over his skin and he clutches at her back as she pulses over and over.  
“Thank you,” she whispers and perhaps he shouldn’t read into it, but he knows she means more than that.  
The dress is hanging in his closet and he smiles. On or off, the dress is the best investment he’s ever made.


End file.
